


Risk Assessment

by minkhollow



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkhollow/pseuds/minkhollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after they get the mess with the Spine sorted out, Claudia gets a letter informing her that she will be pleased to report to a certain address in Featherhead on Saturday morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk Assessment

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler note: This is set just after "Burnout," but it contains a minor plot point spoiler for "Parks and Rehabilitation."  
> Thanks as ever to Neb for beta-reading.  
> I am not Syfy; I'm just borrowing because there was no way I couldn't write this.

The day after they get the mess with the Spine sorted out, Claudia gets a letter informing her that she will be pleased to report to a certain address in Featherhead on Saturday morning.

She’s not sure she’ll be that pleased, actually; she likes her Saturday mornings to be her own whenever possible, and certainly doesn’t want to spend it driving around the Badlands, especially since she’ll have to start out pretty damn early. But there’s a Warehouse logo (at least, she’s guessing that’s what it is, between the pyramid and the thirteen stars) on the letterhead, which gives her the feeling she doesn’t have a choice.

“Might as well act pleased,” she says to herself, and writes it down on her whiteboard calendar.

Myka lets her borrow her car, as long as Claudia promises to fill it up when she gets back, and Claudia drives for what feels like forever – at least this part of the state’s not completely flat – until she gets to a foreboding-looking building on the outskirts of Featherhead. Of course the place looms. Why would the Warehouse do anything halfway?

She gets out, prays she’s not underdressed for the occasion and heads for the door; it swings open as she raises her hand to knock.

“That’s not creepy or anything.” Claudia eyes the hallway that’s now in front of her, then shrugs. “Ready or not, here I come.”

The hall’s not that bad once she gets going, though she feels uncomfortably like she’s headed for a court date. That corner of her brain that likes to play worst-case scenario kicks in – what if they want to string her up over the whole hacking-in-and-kidnapping-Artie thing after all? – but she has to figure if it were actually that bad, they wouldn’t have let her drive herself here. Really, they probably would have turned her electrified handcuffs against her and hauled her in on pain of pain.

Whoever ‘they’ are.

There are three doors at the other end of the hall, so Claudia stops there; she’s not sure if she’s supposed to wait for someone or just pick one, and she’s not sure she wants to go into any of them blind.

Eventually, the door on the left opens and an older woman leans out. “Claudia,” she says. “Glad you could make it.”

“Um. Hi.” Claudia swallows, hoping her nerves will go down along with that mouthful of air. “I’m not in trouble or something, am I?”

“Not at all. But if you intend to stay, there’s some paperwork that needs to be done.”

“Oh, is that all? I thought Artie’s welcome packet was a little on the skinny side.” She heads for the door the woman’s holding open, a little less freaked out now that she knows what’s going on.

Most of the paperwork’s not that bad – tax-purpose forms, direct deposit setup, blah blah blah – though Claudia does note that it’s a little less ‘emergency contact’ and a little more ‘next of kin.’ Then again, they just put a case involving a 47-years-dead agent to bed; this job’s a little higher-risk than anything she’s done before.

“That it?” she says, as she signs the last of the papers.

“Not quite. We need an official record that you know what you’re getting yourself into.” It’s only then that Claudia notices the woman’s been setting up a video camera. “This is an extremely dangerous job, and not one to be taken or entered into lightly.”

Well, hell, if she’d known she was going to be on camera she would’ve picked a less ratty hair clip. But she likes the blue, so she leaves it. She shoves the papers to the side, hopefully out of range of the camera, and says, “Okay. Hit me.”

There’s a couple of seconds as the woman turns the camera on. “As a Warehouse agent, can you state under no duress that you accept and understand your responsibilities?”

Claudia nods. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“And you understand the potential risks involved?”

“I do.” Claudia pauses for a second, but the woman doesn’t turn the camera off, so she takes that as an excuse, if not a cue, to keep going.

“We just finished up a case that... gave me a pretty graphic look at how quickly and badly this stuff can go bad. If anything was going to scare me off, it probably would’ve been getting up close and personal with what was left of Jack.”

She takes a deep breath, and looks at the camera dead-on. “That said, I’m the first person to walk onto this job in decades, if not longer, and I like to think that gives me a little clearer of an idea than your average surprise-transfer candidate. Besides, I put my life on the line for this stuff before I even knew what it was. Before I busted in after Artie, I knew I was probably going to die rescuing Joshua, and I was cool with that.

“I have a better idea of what my own mortality looks like than most people my age, and I definitely know I’m not invincible. But I already love this place. It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling at home since I was ten. And if I can help keep it safe, help stop ruining the world’s day, even if that might kill me... I’m damn well going to do it.”

Claudia’s blinking back tears by the time she finishes, and barely notices the woman turning the camera off.

“Thank you, Claudia. Whenever you feel composed, you’re free to go.”

Claudia nods, more than she really needs to. “Thanks.”


End file.
